After a long while, he finally stirred from his slumber. He rubbed his still-sleepy eyes and glanced around: "Heavens! Where is this place? Why am I here?"

Opening his eyes, he saw the immense sun hanging in the sky, shining upon the earth with brazen arrogance. The vast, empty plain stretched endlessly, utterly desolate, resembling a desert. He stared at the barren landscape before him with disappointment, crying out in a mournful tone, "Where in the world is this? Why must I be here?"

No one answered; even the sound seemed to fear the desolation of this atmosphere and dared not linger. He sank onto the ground with a thump, muttering, "Could I have transmigrated?"

As the words left his mouth, a strange wind suddenly whipped up, stirring the dust on the ground into a frenzied dance, sweeping in like a sandstorm. He was momentarily panicked, then anxiously scanned his surroundings, spotting a slight rise in the land where the ground jutted up a bit higher than elsewhere. He hurried to the base of this small mound, intending to take shelter from the completely unexpected sandstorm.

However, things were not that simple. The power of the swirling sand was immense; though shielded by his clothes, the impact against his skin was enough to make one grimace in pain, let alone direct contact with flesh. Even though he sheltered beneath the mound, the sand desperately forced its way in, boring into his mouth, and even his nostrils became exposed targets. All he could do was summon the last vestiges of his strength, close every pore on his body, clamp his mouth tightly shut, seal his eyes, and wait like a corpse for the tempest to pass.

He could not see, but his other senses sharpened considerably. He felt his body slowly descending, as if the very earth beneath him were being carried away by the sandstorm. Curiosity piqued, he opened his eyes to look, but the storm raging outside was too violent. He managed to crack his eyes open just a sliver for a few seconds, vaguely discerning the situation before slamming them shut again.

Though only a fleeting glimpse, it startled him greatly, for as the sand diminished underfoot, he saw something resembling wooden stakes beginning to materialize. A flicker of excitement sparked within him: "Perhaps I can find the person who jumped into the well? My understanding of wells is about to deepen further."

After an indeterminate time, the sandstorm gradually subsided, finally vanishing completely. The sky, which had been obscured by dark clouds just hours ago, instantly became strikingly beautiful and alluring—perhaps it was mere relief after struggling through a near-death experience.

He opened his aching eyes and looked around, rubbing them for a long time before he could manage to hold them open to scrutinize his surroundings.

"Good heavens, what are all these things?" was the first thing he uttered upon waking.

The once vast, level plain had instantly transformed into a charnel pit filled with the dead. Every figure standing there was a corpse. Indeed, this was the ancient battlefield of the Condensing Spirit Continent; all the Spirit Cultivators stood frozen, covered in a thick crust of ice shards. Yet, having lain buried for so many years, the flawless, transparent ice was layered with dust, though their humanoid shapes were still vaguely discernible.

He walked forward numbly. Millions of motionless corpses seemed to await his command, their collective gazes fixed toward the East, fixed upon him—whether by coincidence or design, he could not tell.

He surveyed these bodies like a general, his fear melting away, replaced by excitement; he had initially thought they were statues. They were all his subordinates. With arrogant pride, chest puffed out, he strode among the corpses, touching and probing things out of curiosity, completely forgetting his own predicament.

Suddenly, the scene felt familiar, so intensely familiar that he couldn't pinpoint where he had encountered it before. His head throbbed loudly. Yes, he must have seen it somewhere, but where?

A wave of dizziness washed over him, and he quickly leaned on a corpse to steady himself.

But the body could not bear his weight; it tumbled to the ground with a clatter. Yet, it remained completely unharmed.

He fell with the body, landing heavily upon it. The dust on the corpse was wiped clean by his clothes, allowing him a clear view through the layer of ice.

He examined the body with growing fascination, the impression becoming clearer and clearer.

As his lips moved, a sound like wind blowing escaped his mouth: Spirit Cultivator. Spirit Cultivator. Ah! I know now, a Spirit Cultivator.

His excitement was palpable. He remembered why this scene felt so familiar—it was the dream he had been having for over a decade!

He smacked his forehead, enlightened: "Haha, no wonder. I was dreaming again. How foolish of me, to be so dense as to mistake my own dream for reality. Fortunately, it's just a dream; if it were real, I truly wouldn't know what to do."

But since he was in a dream, he might as well appreciate the surroundings.

Following the patterns of his previous dreams, he located the protruding rock and climbed atop it. He saw all the soldiers arrayed in the formation of a Tai Chi Bagua; he nodded in satisfaction—the alignment was exactly as it appeared in his recurring dreams. His gaze swept along the majestic ranks of the procession, eventually locating the corpse that held his greatest interest: the little princess.

He crouched on the rock and began moving along the expansive line of bodies, striving toward the little princess’s corpse. After all, he was a man, and a beautiful woman warranted admiration.

Ignoring his fatigue, he flew toward the princess, finally reaching her, breathless and drenched in sweat. Paying no mind to his state, he used his hands to wipe all the dust from the little princess, polishing her until she gleamed brightly, finally revealing the princess in her entirety.

Her skin remained tender, luminous, and translucent; the faint flush on her cheeks was still visible, the features sharply defined, her expression serene, eyes closed, looking as if she were merely asleep. He stared, dumbfounded, unable to tear his gaze away for a long time.

He sat on the ground, watching the noble little princess blankly, convinced that she hadn't truly died, but that he had been summoned by her.

He studied her for an extended period, then suddenly noticed a distinct blush blooming on both her cheeks! Had she sensed someone watching her? He looked at her strangely.

The sun began its slow descent, and the visibility diminished rapidly. He still could not break free from his enchantment with the little princess, entirely forgetting his earlier assessment that this was merely a dream. Now, for him, it was better if this wasn't a dream.

He drew a breath, his eyes fixed dully on the princess’s gaze, then slowly approached and kissed her.

He felt his body was not his own, as if directed by the princess’s command; he was utterly unable to resist such an order. He chose not to resist; after all, he wasn't losing anything—it was just sacrificing his first kiss, and he was willing, especially for such a beautiful girl.

But the situation seemed to worsen. The moment his lips met the princess’s, he felt a hollowness in his body, as if something was drilling out of him, traveling through his mouth and into hers. With intoxicated eyes, he watched in disbelief as the princess’s blush deepened noticeably; his mind was a chaotic mess, utterly unaware of what he was doing.

His head grew heavy, drifting towards sleep. He thought he would just hold the princess and sleep for a while; upon waking, he would see that beautiful village and those lewd villagers again.

His arms wrapped around the princess’s delicate waist, and he sank into a deep slumber.

After an unknown amount of time, he awoke.

His first reaction was a scream, because he was not faced with the village that had caused him such torment, but with this pit of ten thousand corpses. Were these things not dreams? Had everything he dreamed actually come true? He beat his head in regret, yet felt a strange curiosity—why would he dream of this place? Where exactly was this?

His body ached, and he tried to stretch, but found he couldn't move. He looked at his body in astonishment, discovering with surprise that he was bound by a rope as thick as a finger.

His mind exploded. The events of the previous night replayed vividly: kissing the princess, and then sleeping with her...

Right, the little princess. His mind snapped, and he looked into her embrace.

To his disappointment, the little princess was not tied up with him.

His gaze frantically swept the surroundings, but still, not a single human figure was in sight.

His inner turmoil was extreme; everything here was so bizarre. "Did the little princess revive?" he muttered to himself.

Impossible, he answered himself internally. If things were the same as in the dream, these people would be over three thousand years old by now, long turned to dust and scattered by the wind. How could they be resurrected? Besides, weren't they still encased in a thick layer of ice? The hope of revival was truly slim.

He tried to console himself, but still peered around furtively, attempting to locate the princess's figure.

And there he was—behind a statue, he spotted the little princess, tears streaming down her face. At that moment, she was mourning over a corpse, her small body trembling, eliciting pity from any observer.

He thought this princess, so delicate and tender, surely wouldn't harm him, so he shouted boldly, "Princess, help! Come quickly and untie me! I am here!"

Indeed, his cry caught the princess's attention, and her gaze immediately shot over, fixing coldly upon him. He instantly felt a chill run through him—the sensation was vastly different from the affectionate regard he had imagined in his heart.

The princess hurried to his side and said icily, "Who are you, and why are you here?"

Jing Ran was utterly disappointed; he hadn't expected such a pitiable little princess to have such a foul temper. He could only manage a rueful smile and remain silent. He thought this princess, so delicate, surely wouldn't harm him, so he shouted boldly, "Princess, help! Come quickly and untie me! I am here!"

Indeed, his cry caught the princess's attention, and her gaze immediately shot over, fixing coldly upon him. He instantly felt a chill run through him—the sensation was vastly different from the affectionate regard he had imagined in his heart.

The princess hurried to his side and said icily, "Who are you, and why are you here?"

Jing Ran was utterly disappointed; he hadn't expected such a pitiable little princess to have such a foul temper. He could only manage a rueful smile and remain silent.